


Here With Me, a Roswell DW AU

by AcaigaWrites



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aliens, Eventual Romance, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Roswell AU, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-04-07 08:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19081726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcaigaWrites/pseuds/AcaigaWrites
Summary: Rose Tyler. Nineteen years old and citizen of Roswell, New Mexico, and perhaps the largest extra-terrestrial cynic around. Maybe having your life saved by an alien is exactly the kind of kick it takes to begin to believe.





	1. Prologue: The Shooting of Rose Tyler

**Author's Note:**

> The Prologue to the new multi-chapter story, a Doctor Who AU mingled with Roswell (1999) components. Their stories are similar in many ways, and so I had to write this! Please review, it's incredibly motivating and gets me to write a little faster :)

_September 23rd, journal entry one. I'm Rose Tyler, and five days ago I died._

She shifted the tray in her arms, balancing the weight of the plates across it and plastering a pretty - albeit incredibly false - smile on her face. There they were; two tourists, a man and a woman, looking absolutely ridiculous in their ghostbusters-esque get-ups and alien propaganda. If she were from any other part of the country, or world for that matter, she'd've probably teased them, or stared blankly. But this was Roswell, and so Rose Tyler was well-practiced in the art of keeping a straight face.

Crashdown Café was no stranger to the excursions of those obsessed with the supernatural and occult. In fact, it thrived on it, and it was perhaps those same excursionists who kept the business afloat. Entertain their fantasies, feed them, keep them happy, get paid. That was the job, and Rose Tyler, albeit wearily, was very used to such a task. Even this silly little waitress outfit with a little novelty alien head for a badge. Not to mention the utterly cringe-worthy tiaras.

"Here you go," she said politely, handing over the food and swallowing her pride. "Can I get you guys anythin' else?"

The man - geeky-looking bloke, to be honest - shook his head. "No, no thanks."

_Don't tease don't tease don't tease don't you dare_ \- "Are you guys here for the Crash Festival?" Rose tried to restrain herself from doing what she was about to do, but in all fairness, she didn't get to do much else. May as well enjoy her shift while she could.

"Yeah, can't wait," the woman piped up, and Rose could tell instantly what was coming next. "So, does your family come from Roswell?"

_London accent? Is that not completely obvi_ \- "Oh, just four generations, somethin' like that."

The couple's mouths fell open. The man saw opportunity and seized it, practically jumping in his booth seat. "Really? Did a family member teach you the accent? wait, never mind. Does anyone in your family have some stories about the UFO crash?"

_Oh boy_. Rose cast her glance around, playing along with their fascination, and lowered herself conspiratorially to their level of view, toning down her voice for the effect. "I guess it'd be okay to show you guys this."

She reached slowly into her apron pocket, revealing a folded picture that she held out to them. Internally she was grinning, but on the outside she kept up appearances with the ease of someone well-practiced at such trickery. Their gazes fixated on it, and as the man reached out in awe to take it, another waiter walked behind the booth, rolling his eyes.

Rose rolled her eyes back, mimicking him before Mickey stepped away to offer refills to two bickering men, then cast her attention back to the couple. "My grandma took this picture at the crash site right before the government cleared it all up."

"Do people know about this picture?" The woman asked, rather pushily in Rose's opinion.

"I know about it," Rose shrugged, "and now you know about it."

They let out their sounds of awe-inspired appreciation, and Rose took the opportunity to head back to the kitchens after making them swear to keep the "evidence" to themselves. She joined Mickey, her childhood friend and work colleague, as they walked to the back room together.

"You are so _bad_ ," Mickey grinned at her, and she couldn't help but laugh a little. It was a little mean, but what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them, would it?

"Yeah, well," Rose replied, waving her hand dismissively, "some of us need a bit of stimulation to get us through the day."

"Right. Hey, that bloke, over there. He's been staring at you, by the way."

Rose frowned, turning a little to find who Mickey was looking at. The café was full, as it usually was on a Friday at rush hour. "Who?"

"Dunno his name," Mickey muttered, keeping his voice to a minimum as he started to gather two new meals onto a tray. "He's sat at the back. Buzzcut hair, leather jacket. Looks 'bout forty."

Her eyes flickered from left to right, eventually settling on the man Mickey had been referring to. 

Donned all in black, from his heavy and battered leather jacket to the well-worn Doc Martens. He did indeed look around forty, perhaps forty-five, with eyes that bore the same hue as ice and cheekbones Rose reckoned you could cut diamonds with. Attractive, she also thought, albeit not in a conventional manner. In a rugged, battle-hardened way, like an almost-retired soldier. 

_Good lord, you sound exactly like your mother._

His gaze caught hers, their eyes locking, and there was a sudden intensity in the air that knocked the air from Rose's lungs.

_Where had she seen him before?_

"Hey," Mickey nudged her, and she started at the unexpected contact. The stranger in black looked away, and she did too, with surprising reluctance.

"You were right," she whispered, turning her attention to the glasses she was planning to use. "He was lookin'."

"Bit of a creep," Mickey noted. "And way too old for you. Just another one of them older blokes lookin' for someone young."

"No, that's not it," Rose replied slowly. "I've seen him somewhere. Can't remember where, though. Maybe he remembers, too. Wonder if-"

Her questions went unanswered however, because as they had been speaking, the bickering between the men had escalated. It was obviously debate over money and debts, as they roared at one another from across the booth table, smashing hands against the placemats and yelling incoherently from the other side of the café.

One man raised his pint glass, still half-full, and brought it down with astounding force over the other man's head.

In retaliation, the other pulled a gun.

In the chaos that followed, Rose could do nought but panic. The café's customers dove for cover beneath their tables, shouting and screaming as the raging man toted his short-barrelled pistol. He pressed it to the other man's chest, hollering obscenities. The men grappled and wrestled, one trying to pull the trigger, the other trying to restrain him, and all the while Rose was panicking. Her heart hammered in her ribcage, blood roaring in her ears and pounding at her temples, and solutions and plans and options racing through her mind.

_What do I do? What the hell am I supposed to do?_

And then the gun was twisting, changing direction-

-and firing a bullet into Rose Tyler's chest.

_S_ _eptember 23rd, journal entry one. I'm Rose Tyler, and five days ago I died._

 


	2. A Shimmering Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this may SEEM a little slow-going, but I have to get a build-up! Instead of making you all wait a long while for extensive chapters, I thought I'd release them quicker by making the chapters slightly shorter. Please review, I love everyone's comments and they make me grin like an idiot.

_"Oh my God-"_

_"Wasn't even her business-"_

_"He shot her?"_

_"Call an ambulance!"_

Her vision swam, blurring in and out of focus. She was aware of the mayhem around her, but not quite conscious enough to care. The voices pierced her eardrums, searing into her skull, a white-hot branding iron against her mind. Her head spun, whirling at a thousand miles per hour, and she was dully knowing of the blood beginning to pool on her stomach.

_Make it stop. Please, make it stop. It hurts. Please._

Cool hands pulled tenaciously at the front of her dress apron, and despite their coldness they felt scalding against her ruined skin. Her eyes rolled back in spite of her efforts to stay responsive, so tempted to succumb to the heaviness of her body. A hand cupped her chin, forcing her to stay awake and rousing a guttural groan from deep within her throat.

"It's going to be okay, Rose." the hand shook slightly, and she fought to stop herself from releasing the whimper that threatened to spill, "Rose, you have to look at me."

It was an eternal battle, she thought with delirium as a cold palm pressed down against the bullet wound. Her eyelids were heavy but she knew she must, and so she forced herself to look at him. Somewhere in her daze she registered the face as familiar; the same pale blue eyes alight with intensity, close-cropped hair and strong-featured face. His gaze locked with her own and, for the first time, Rose Tyler's life quite literally flashed before her eyes.

_Six years old again and clutching her mother's hand at the local co-op, pleading for a Kinder Egg from the sweets aisle. It should be a no - it usually is - but today her mother gives in to her begging and lets her buy the little treat. She carries the toy from inside the Egg around in her breast pocket for two months after that._

_Eight years old and on a school trip to the National History Museum of London, pointing excitedly at the skeleton of a dinosaur and tugging at Mickey's hand, though he doesn't quite share her enthusiasm. She has a couple quid for spending money, and buys a Triceratops plushie from the gift shop. It stays at the end of her bed until she turns eleven._

_Twelve years old and her mother breaks the news to her that they're moving. Not just from the flat, but to a new country altogether. It's to be closer to her grandparents or so she's told, but it doesn't really matter. She's reluctant to leave, scared to leave Mickey behind, but there's a sense of adventure bubbling behind the apologies, and she can't keep pitying him forever. A couple years later, he follows in her wake and joins them in Roswell._

_Sixteen years old and she's left college and her academic prowess for a wanker. Several months later and he leaves her, too, with nothing to her name but eight hundred dollars in debt and a broken heart and broken dreams. It takes her a long time to put back the pieces, and even then she's not sure if she's whole again._

_Another presence, whispering in her mind._

_He's the Doctor._

Rose gasped, her right hand grasping at her saviour's wrist. Her breaths came quick and short, panicked, but the man's hand was on her hair, stroking softly, reassuringly. He murmured, keeping his voice down, speaking gently to soothe her through her panic.

"Hey, hey," he said, lightly smoothing a thumb over her shoulder. "You're alright now."

She believed him. As the world came fully back into focus, she realised that they were concealed cleverly behind the counters, with the man's broad shoulders blocking her gunshot wound. Or, what was once a wound.

Speaking of, where...?

"Rose," he said, and there was a growing urgency to his northern accent - English, she noted, like her own. His eyes flickered upwards, and the next thing she knew he'd smashed a glass ketchup bottle against the counter, and stained her exposed stomach red with its contents. His fingers worked quick at the buttons of her dress apron, buttoning it halfway up again with the buttons that hadn't burst off at his earlier attack.

She opened her mouth, confused beyond belief, but before she could speak he had withdrawn from his kneeling position over her.

The man spoke before she got the chance. "You broke the bottle when you fell and spilled ketchup on yourself. Don't... don't say anything." His eyes pleaded with her as she began to sit up, rubbing at her throbbing temples with tentative fingers. He lingered only a second longer, and then he was walking.

Walking away, and leaving her right there.

Now that she was no longer concealed, the customers who had recovered from the shock of an impromptu shooting had begun to crowd around her. Mickey pushed his way to the front, concern written across his features. Concern quickly turned to shock at the scarlet mess of her stomach, and despite Rose's own trauma, she managed to pull her face into a reassuring smile.

"Rose, are you- what did - is everything-" he stumbled over his words.

"'M fine," she told him lightly, allowing him to help her to her feet. "I just slipped on the floor when I tried to duck behind the counter from that guy. It's just ketchup, Micks. Broke the bottle, spilled ketchup. See?"

Mickey said something in reply, but she wasn't listening. Her vision had already drifted to the doorway, just in time to watch the man disappear around the corner of the café.

* * *

The police arrived soon after.

Bombarded with questions she hesitantly evaded, Rose's headache grew relentless. She watched with abjectly false curiosity and concern as they puzzled over the scene, searching for a bullet-hole they'd never actually find. Mickey mothered her, made her a cup of tea in the machine, and she despite the way it was starting to irritate her, tea really did her some good when it came to headaches.

Mickey was the one to recount the appearances of the men to the waiting police officers, but to no avail without making them look like cartoon characters. Rose sat on a booth table, swinging her legs in a childlike manner, trying to put her thoughts and memories into a comprehensible order. She'd committed the mystery man's face to memory. Hard to forget with a face like his, so distinct and unconventionally handsome. The accent, too, the northern burr.

Her mum had picked her up from the café when the dust had settled and Rose was given permission to leave. After worrying and fussing over her just as Mickey had, they finally left, leaving the day's events behind. Her mother's soft spot for Mickey encouraged her to offer him a lift home, which he accepted rather quickly, and they dropped him at his driveway with a wave goodbye.

"Are you sure you're alright, sweetheart?" Her mum asked, as if it were the first time and not the tenth that she'd asked her this afternoon.

"Mum," she groaned, rolling her head against the headrest of the seat, "I'm fine. Completely fine. Brilliant, even. Head's bangin', though. Could do with an aspirin."

"Right you are, love. Aspirin and another cuppa, hm? I'll even buy us some hot dogs or something, how about that?"

"I don't nee- actually, yeah, that sounds good."

Her mum dropped her home before heading off out again so that Rose could change out of her stained attire. She bounded up the stairs, somewhat eager to evaluate what should be a bullet wound, and chucked her bag onto the bed. Stripping off the waitressing outfit, Rose stood before the wardrobe mirror, exposing her stomach to the warm air.

Her mouth fell open in surprise.

A handprint lay across her naval, directly over where she had been shot. Not a scarlet one, as she perhaps might have expected, or an angry pink burn mark from where his hand had touched her and it had felt like liquid fire.

No. A silver, shining handprint.

Rose traced her fingers over it delicately, like her own touch would burn her skin. Her thoughts raced, tripping and tumbling over one another and vying for her utmost attention, and she entertained every one of them slowly and inclusively.

The name was a recurring thought. Doctor. Doctor. Doctor.

" _Don't... don't say anything_."

His words rang clearly in her ears, imprinted and engraved into her subconscious. At the memory she felt a thrill run through her, settling deep in her abdomen. Her life was uneventful at best, and so dull it was soporific at worst. She was stable in her life now, at least, with a decent part-time job and a mother who was trying her best to assist her daughter in getting back on to her own two feet again. But still, so _monotonous_.

"What are you?" The words came out in a hushed tone, even though she was alone in the house. She wasn't expecting the handprint to glow, or speak, or vibrate or anything, and it didn't. That was good, because at least she didn't feel stupid.

Her mum came home fifteen minutes later, food from the stores a couple of streets away. They didn't make food like in England, but Rose wasn't too fussy when it came to hunger. Yet another thing she left behind, and now wasn't even sure it was for the better. She took the aspirin with a mug of hot, steaming tea and ate the hotdog in a hurry. It was too late in the evening to go looking for the so-called "Doctor" now, but tomorrow was a Saturday.

She'd find him then, and question him. Get the answers to every thought she harboured. He'd give her a rational explanation, tell her just how his hands managed to erase a fatal gunshot wound in a matter of moments, and leave a glimmering mark in its wake. For every unthinkable anomaly there was a logical solution, surely?

Rose logged on to her laptop, opened the search-bar.

_Google: the Doctor, Roswell._


	3. Strange Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to stray a little from canon (because the Doctor's physical appearance does NOT resemble that of a student, and Rose is a little older than Liz in canon Roswell). Few alterations were made, and this chapter was created instead of me studying for an exam! Enjoy, and please don't forget to review!

By the time Rose had decided to stop for the evening, it was one o'clock in the morning and her eyelids had long since grown heavy. Three cooled, empty tea-mugs sat beside her laptop, leaving little rings on the white wood of the desk. When she woke the next morning she made sure to bring them all down, lest she fall victim to her mum's wrath about "living in a pigsty".

She woke to an alarm clock reading eight-one-seven. That gave her just under forty-five minutes to get ready and meet up with her friend - or, in this particular occasion, consultant - at a nearby coffee shop. She showered quickly and blow-dried her hair, then tugged on some jeans and a hoodie. If she used her bike, she'd get there in ten minutes.

Jack Harkness had been a close friend of hers since the age of fourteen, a little over year after she'd first made the big move to America. He'd been two years her senior, all charm and smiles, with the "jawline of Dan Dare", as another girl in her class had once said. All eyes on Jack, as Rose had once joked wryly, a little distrusting of perfect strangers.

The day they had met, she had been sat on a bench by the lockers, alone. She had friends now, but the sort that you didn't invite to your house. She would sit with them at break, and chat with them when there was conversation to be made, but there were no lasting bonds. Just people to mitigate the loneliness and isolation she often felt. These so-called "friends" kept her at somewhat of a distance, but that had been fine. She could keep herself occupied.

But then Jack had found her. All smiles and dimples, he'd practically thrown himself into her life and demanded her friendship and first-born child, so to speak. He was flirtatious, but all in jest, and she appreciated that. There were no ulterior motives with him. However, she did quickly discover his strongly-held beliefs in the truth of Roswell's 'alien' history. Her scepticism and his enthusiasm were great opponents, but they became the yin to one another's yang, and best friends.

"Good morning to you," he greeted with that dazzling smile as she joined him at the table of the coffee shop. His dark hair was combed to perfection.

"And to you, good sir," she joked in return. "Hope you're ready for this. Spent all night on it and I'm questioning life choices, but I reckon it'll give you a field day."

"You said it was important?" Jack pushed a mug towards her, and the smell of sweetened coffee filled her senses. She took it gratefully.

"I did. It's about what happened yesterday. Y'know, the gunman and... everything."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You still haven't told me about what happened properly."

"Yeah, well, been busy. And there's plenty to try to take in here, so do me a favour, don't get judgemental."

"Oh, sweetheart, am I ever?" He winked, and she sighed. He really _wasn't_ ever.

Rose cast her gaze around, grateful that a lot of other people had chosen to be obnoxiously loud this morning. "I got shot."

Jack's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "I'm sorry, you what now?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she said quickly, "but only because there was someone there. He... he healed me."

"Who's he?"

"I... I don't know. Some man, or... or _something_ , I really don't know. Me and Mickey were talkin', and the next thing I know..." Rose mimed firing a gun with her right fingers. "Bullet, right in the stomach. But this man - the Doctor, I think his name might've been - he put his hand on the wound."

"And it just healed? Just like that?" Jack took a long sip of his coffee, staring at her with rapt attention.

"Yeah," she nodded. "That's not all though. It left a scar. But not a bullet-hole, a handprint. In silver. But I did a bit of research, 'cause the bloke just... he just left."

"Hold on, hold on," Jack halted her, holding up both of his hands. "You mean to tell me, you had an _alien encounter_ and waited 'til _now_ to tell me?"

Rose hissed at his raised voice, looking quickly around again to make sure he hadn't attracted attention. "I didn't say alien. I just said it was weird. But I thought you should look at these."

She lifted her rucksack from the floor, opening the zip to withdraw a folder and placing it on the table between them. Jack opened it, eyes scanning the pages of information she had printed for evidence of her search, and allowed her to point out certain bits and pieces.

"Here's one picture. That's him, twenty years ago, 1985, here in Roswell. Dressed the same, but he's no younger. Exactly identical."

"Moisturiser?"

"Shut up, it's not funny." Her words were callous, but her tone was teasing. "Another one. The Doctor, a sighting of him, back in 1947. What's special about that date?" She asked him, though it was entirely rhetorical and she just wanted his focus.

"1947. The supposed UFO crash in Roswell." He looked at her with confusion for only a moment, then realisation dawned. "And he's exactly the same... You think he-"

"No. No, I do NOT think that man was an alien."

"But you-"

"No."

Jack sighed. "Fine. What's your point then?"

"That's him. That's him, back in 1947, looking exactly the same as he does now. In 2005. I'm not saying alien, but-"

"Time traveller?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

Rose felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she stiffened. She had the strangest of sensations, as though someone were watching her. Jack noticed her shift in posture, reaching across to rest a comforting hand over hers where it lay on the folder.

"Rose, hon? Everything okay?"

"Yeah, 'm fine. Just..." she trailed off, turning in her seat. Her gaze swept the room, scanning each and every face, but she could spot nobody looking directly at her.

She was just about to shrug it off when the glass doors opened.

"It's him," Rose muttered. "Jack, he's right there."

Her eyes took him in, her throat tightening around the lump that had formed there.

"Hey!" Her voice rang loud through the coffee shop. "Hey, you!"

The moment he laid his eyes on her, his face turned to thunder.

"Oh, you are _not_ getting away this time," she growled under her breath, and slung her rucksack over one shoulder.

* * *

She cornered him in the parking lot.

"Look, I'm not gonna leave you alone 'til I get some answers."

The man kept walking, kept ignoring her, and Rose half-jogged to keep up. He never so much as glanced in her direction, and she felt so frustrated, so aggravated by his feigned indifference, that she reached out a decisive hand and snagged his sleeve.

He pulled to an abrupt halt. "Can I help you?"

Rose's jaw dropped. "Can you... can you help me? Yes, you bloody well can! I need to talk to you. You owe me an explanation, mister..?"

"Doctor."

"Doctor what?"

"Just, the Doctor. That's it," he said irritably.

Rose ran a hand frustratedly through her hair, scuffing a shoe against the gravel. "Look, Doctor. I dunno what the hell happened, but I think at this point I deserve to." She tugged again on his sleeve, feeling somewhat childish. "Please?"

His blue eyes flickered to hers. "Fine. But not here."

Together they walked in silence to the nearest bench, overlooking a pond nearby. Rose dropped Jack a quick text to let him know she'd be a while, to which he responded with "best of luck with your alien hunting!". The Doctor sat stiffly on the edge of the seat, clearly uncomfortable, and Rose was hit sudden feelings of guilt for her boldness.

"Hey," she said, knocking her voice down several volumes. "I didn't mean to be so... y'know. Pushy."

His lips twitched, though he still didn't look at her. "No. It's understandable."

She wasn't quite sure what to say past that. "Right. Okay. Well, I thought you should at least let me thank you for what happened. So... thanks."

"You're welcome."

The next words leapt from her throat. "Where have I seen you before?"

His face turned so quickly to her that she feared he might've pulled a muscle. "Common face. You've seen a lot of blokes like me around."

"I'd be able to tell," Rose shook her head, then froze. He didn't take notice of her blatant comment, or if he did, then he didn't comment on it. "But I did my research, Doctor. You've travelled a lot, haven't you?"

"You could say that."

"You saved me," she continued, switching the subject. "Yesterday, at the café, when I was shot. I mean, everythin' was hazy, and I was kinda delirious, but it can tell it was you."

The man - Doctor, rather - looked back to the ground. "I did. And, yeah, it was me."

She raised an eyebrow. "That's it? That's all I'm getting? No. What you did, it was..."

"Magic?"

Rose gave him a look. "I was going to say crazy. It's not possible for someone to just heal a fatal gunshot wound with... with your _bare hands_."

They were quiet for a brief moment, with Rose waiting in anticipation to finally receive some plausible explanation. Then she could go home, laugh about it to Mickey and Jack, and all would eventually be forgotten.

"Hm. You're right," he said, his voice taking on a cheery tone. "It's not possible. For humans, anyway."

"Oh, shut the front door," Rose groaned, rolling her eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," the Doctor said slowly, "that some of us aren't from around here."

"I figured." She paused for a moment, then turned her body fully to look at him. She felt fortunate that there weren't too many people around. It would make what she was about to do far easier. "Doctor."

The Doctor turned to look at her as she lifted the hem of her hoodie, revealing the silver handprint stretched across her abdomen. She swallowed, gauging his reaction, watching his expression change from apathetic to curious concern. He reached out a tentative hand, then looked at her questioningly, silently asking her permission. As she nodded to grant it, he peered down at her stomach, grazing the mark with tentative fingers.

"Who - _what_ are you?" She asked quietly, taking advantage of the break in conversation. "Where are you from?"

His gaze met hers once more, his fingers slowly leaving the skin of her abdomen. "Would you think I'm mad if I told you?"

"Probably. Doesn't matter, though. I want to know."

He lifted a hand, gesturing upwards with his index finger.

"North? That explains the accent," Rose jested, but she was shaking at his implications. She lowered her voice a little, dropping the nonchalant act. "How far north?"

His finger ascended higher.

Rose drew her breath in sharply, following his hand, realising she hadn't inhaled for several seconds. Then she exhaled in one long huff, letting out a loud bark of laughter, though she felt no mirth. "You're not a... an _alien_ or something, I mean... come _on_." Despite her words, she felt the flickers of doubt of her own certainty begin to ignite.

He stayed silent, leaving Rose's self-doubt to crescendo into a metaphorical blaze.

" _Are_ you an alien?" She could practically feel the fight-or-flight response kicking in, nausea rising and her legs aching to run, to find some semblance of normality even as the question left her mouth.

The Doctor's mouth flickered, twitching into a small smile. "I prefer the term 'not-of-this-earth'." At her lack of a response and wide-eyed face, the Doctor's smile faded once more. "Sorry, it's not a good time to joke. But... yeah, I am. Weird to actually say it."

But Rose was on her feet, grabbing her rucksack, and trying to control her breathing as she began to walk away. She could hear the Doctor calling for her as she left, yet ignored him in favour of fleeing.

"Yep, well, I've got a nice little coffee date with a mate of mine, a very _human_ mate, mind you, and I'd hate to keep him wait-"

A hand closed around her wrist, tugging her to a stop.

"Rose," he whispered, not at all menacing so much as grave. Pleading. "Rose, please listen to me. You can't tell anyone."

Her mind flickered briefly to Jack, but she felt safe with her trust in him.

"Please, Rose," the Doctor murmured, his mouth so close to her ear it was almost touching. He hadn't released his firm grip on her wrist. "My life is in your hands."

He pressed something into the palm of her hand, closing her fingers around it, and then he was gone.


	4. Long Way from Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a little longer than usual, I've been busy with the last of my exams. I hope you enjoy this latest chapter, and that I do you all justice!

"So. I called you, like, thirty seven times."

Rose lifted her face from the café restroom sink, where she was dousing her face in water. After her early morning meeting with Jack, she'd phoned in for a shift at Crashdown Café, reasoning that it'd be a welcome distraction from the events that had conspired earlier. Now, after the end of her shift, Shareen Costello stood beside her in the mirror, arms folded and a look of deep disapproval across her features.

"Seriously," Shareen continued. "I had to hear it from the news! Not you, or Mickey, or even that fella Jack you hang around with sometimes. Would it've killed you to drop me a text?"

"Sorry," Rose mumbled, drying her face with her apron. "I meant to, I really did, but I've had a crazy past couple days."

"So. A shooting, huh? Why's all the fun stuff happen to you then, eh?"

Rose ran a hand through the knots in her blonde hair. "Shareen, someone could've died. That isn't fun. I mean, maybe in your book, but not mine."

"Hm. Still, 'least it's interesting. Oh! Forgot to ask. The Crash festival." Shareen veered the direction of the conversation onto an entirely different tangent. Odd girl, she was. "Have you decided if you're going with anyone? Sure you could get a date with just a flutter of eyelashes."

"Haven't thought about it," Rose said honestly, though a little confused as to how on Earth Shareen could change topics completely at random. "Been a lot goin' on, just kinda shoved it to the back of my mind."

Shareen went still for a moment, as she always did before she changed her tone of voice, then carried on softly. "Are you okay, though? Must've been a hell of a nasty shock."

 _Pfft. Don't even know the half of it_. "Yeah. Yeah, guess it was."

Her voice came out a lot more timid than she had planned, and Shareen, being the ever-empathetic friend she was, stepped forward to hug her instantly. Rose stilled for a brief moment, then hugged her back, glad for the familiarity and comfort. Shareen had been the one who helped her in her rough situation with Jimmy Stone at the age of sixteen. To call it 'rough' might've been the biggest understatement of the century, though.

He had been a manipulative man at best, abusive bastard at worst, and had had such a way with words that, no matter how much she had wanted to leave him, to run from him and scream, she couldn't. She couldn't, because she felt that everywhere she went, he would be just two steps behind, scaring her into submission. Rose had been fooled, just like all of Jimmy Stone's previous flings, and trapped in his web of dark lies.

Shareen didn't judge. She was good at that. All she could do was offer advice, show her support, offer her the friendship from another girl that she so desperately needed. And, most importantly, give her safe refuge when times got even tougher and she didn't want to face her mother.

Even so, she had made a vow. She wouldn't tell anyone else about what happened.

Her fingers closed around the slip of paper the Doctor had given her, hidden deep in her apron pocket. 

* * *

By the time she got home that evening, the sun was starting to set.

Rose looked for her mother, confused when she could find her nowhere around the house. After sending her a text, Rose received a full essay on "Bev and Beryl's latest escapades", changed into pyjama sweats and a camisole, then headed up alone to her rooftop. Since they moved to the house several years ago, the flat roof had become her favourite place to sit and think. Nowadays, she was up there more than ever.

Slumping down into her cushioned deckchair, she drew the slip of paper from her pocket. On it read a ten-digit number scrawled in blue biro, and nothing else. She considered, in an impulsive, intrusive thought, if she should just bin it and put it all behind her.

Instead, she was tapping the numbers into her phone.

As the call picked up, her heart leapt to her throat. "Hey."

"Rose Tyler. Nice surprise. Honestly didn't expect you to call."

"Yeah," Rose said hollowly, her throat turning dry. "Look, Doctor, can we talk? Not on the phone, but... here. My place."

"Nice of you to invite me, Rose, but I don't have a clue where you live."

"I know that," she rolled her eyes, allowing herself to feel a little better as the amusement in his voice struck her. "I was gonna give you my address."

"Oh. Oh, alright then. Are you sure you want me around? Last time you seemed a bit on-edge."

"I'm sure. Here's the address."

He arrived twenty minutes later, and she lead him directly to the roof. He prattled on in what she had now come to label 'True Doctor fashion', something about "humans, and their strange obsessions with rooftop hideouts" and then about the sun's beautiful Rayleigh effect. He stood at the edge of the roof, looking over the local suburbs, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket. She zoned out at first, waiting for him to stop rambling, then came back to Earth as he folded his arms and turned to face her.

"You, uh... wanna... sit?" She finished lamely, and the Doctor gave a slight huff of mirth, sitting on a nearby ottoman.

"Thanks." He went quiet for a little, and Rose kept her eyes trained on him until he spoke again. "I keep thinkin', y'know. 'Bout the café, and you, what happened. Are you alright?"

"I suppose," she shrugged. "I'm getting that question every two seconds from everyone, but thanks anyway."

The Doctor scuffed his boots against the ground, evidently contemplating. "I don't mean to sound creepy - stop me if I do, honestly, but I thought you should know - I remember something."

Rose frowned. "And rememberin' things is... a bad thing?"

The Doctor chuckled - it was a warm sound, she realised, even comforting. "Not in itself, no. I'm talkin' about the... the shooting. Specifically, healing you."

"Me too. Been on my mind non-stop."

"I do tend to have that effect."

Rose couldn't help the smile. He was likeable, this man. "When you healed me, something happened. Other than me not dying, I mean. I saw stuff. My own memories, like I was looking in on myself. Watchin' my life through someone else's eyes."

The Doctor's own smile faltered, but its ghost remained. "That's what I wanted to talk about. I saw things, Rose. You. Same things you did. Most prominent thing, though. You, about eight years old, in that little navy pinafore."

Rose's face fell, realisation slowly dawning. "You read my _mind_?"

"What? No, no, of course not," the Doctor shook his head, running a hand over his close-cropped hair. "I would never, not without your permission. It's a big boundary of my people."

Rose said nothing, just got to her feet and wrung her hands.

"And... Rose, I could feel how you felt. The happiness when your mum bought you that sweet at the shop. The joy at that little Triceratops toy. The guilt at leaving your friends behind to leave for Roswell. And then... oh, Rose, the anger, the _terror_ you felt towards that ex-boyfriend of yours."

Her mouth fell open in a gasp, and she couldn't help but raise a hand to cover it. Traitorous tears stung at her eyes, as they always did at any mention of Jimmy Stone, and she wiped them away roughly with her sleeve as if angry at her body for betraying her. The Doctor stepped closer, touched her shoulder gently. He looked at her with such gentleness, a soft compassion, but there was no pity, and for that she was grateful. All she ever got from people was pity when they found out about Jimmy. It had been a terrifying ideal, but she had gotten through it. She wanted people to be proud of her for that, not look at her like some sort of wounded puppy.

"I'm sorry for looking in," he said softly, and she looked up at him. He seemed to tower over her at this angle, yet it didn't frighten her in the slightest. "And, Rose, it's a long shot and I've never tried this before, but if it'll reassure you, then I'll do it for you."

"What, Doctor?"

"Attempt the connection again. But, the other way round. So you can see into my memories too."

Rose was a little startled. "But Doctor, you don't even know me."

He smiled, and it was almost shy. He didn't strike her as a shy type of person. "I know. But I'd like to. If you would."

She looked up at him again, properly into his eyes. "Okay. If that's alright with you. No pressure, though."

"None from my side either," he returned, and then hesitated. "I'd have to touch you, if that's alright. I'm a touch-telepath, so skin-on-skin contact would be necessary."

"That's okay," Rose whispered.

His hands, slightly rough with wear-and-tear, came to cup her cheeks, his slender fingers tucking her hair behind her ears. She tried not to shiver, vaguely astonished at the way she was trusting a man she hardly knew with going into her head. Why did it feel so right to trust him? His fingers came to rest at her temples, palms at her cheeks and thumbs supporting her jaw.

Her eyes closed, and when she opened them, the world around her had faded.

_A golden city. Skyscrapers of liquid gold stretching into magma skies, meadows and trees of silver and lakes of lilac and rose. She watches as though through the eyes of another, staring at the people donned in billowing gowns of scarlet and gold as they pass her. A laugh sounds, young and pure, like the rings of a wind chime, and it is music to her ears._

_The air is warm on her skin, the same warmth of a summer solstice evening where the breeze is so gentle it can't so much as raise a single hair. There is a musical melody in her mind, embedded into the cerebral cortex so deeply she doubted it would ever fade. She can feel the presence of another mind brushing lightly against her own, and it both exhilarates and terrifies her._

Rose drew back from the memory with a choked gasp, like a swimmer emerging from a deep dive. She panted, breaths coming short and quick, gradually slowing as the Doctor traced long fingers through her hair. He looked worried, his pale eyes flickering restlessly at the notion of her panic.

"That was - I mean - was that," she struggled, "your home? Is that what that was?"

"Yes," the Doctor said, his own voice somewhat strained. "My homeworld, Gallifrey. Also known as Jewel, and the Shining World of the Seven Systems."

His fingers slipped from her face, and Rose couldn't help but bring her hands up to hold his. For a brief moment he stiffened, then relaxed, squeezing her hands.

"'S beautiful," Rose admitted, smiling. "Is it far?"

"Very," the Doctor said quietly. "I'm a long way from home, Rose Tyler."

They spoke for several hours and entertained six cups of tea, and it was just past ten o'clock when he finally bid her goodnight. She was sad to see him go, this strange enigma of a man, and she couldn't help the yearning for his company. As he stood on the doorway about to leave, she pulled him into a tentative hug. It was a little impulsive, given the way she hardly knew him, but they were getting there. After all, they _had_ seen into each other's minds.

Rose had barely had the time to put on the television when the doorbell sounded.

She padded barefoot along the hallway, preparing herself for the onslaught of drama her mother was sure to provide after an evening with her friends. "Hey, mum-"

The greeting died on her tongue. It certainly was not her mother.

"Evening, miss," the Sheriff said.

* * *

For good measure, she made him coffee. If she wanted to appear as if all was in order, surely such an act was a good way to start. The Sheriff was a relatively nice man, the father of her friend, but such common acquaintance wouldn't afford her her safety. Sheriff Smith accepted the coffee she offered with a forced smile.

"Please, sit," the Sheriff said courteously, and Rose did so, finding it odd that someone else would ask her to sit in her own home. "I assume you know why I'm here, Miss Tyler."

"Rose," Rose said, sipping at her own drink. "Just call me Rose, please. And yeah, I think I do. You're after more details about the shooting, aren't you? But I've already told the police everythin'. To be honest, 'm not really sure what else people want from me."

The Sheriff smiled wryly. "The truth, Rose. That's all everyone wants from you. And I don't mean to throw around accusations, I really don't, but I think you know more than you're letting on."

Rose's stomach twisted, and she fought to keep her face from showing the fear that had begun to stir. "Sheriff, I don't wanna disappoint, but I'm afraid I don't."

She could see the disbelief he was trying so hard to conceal, and it was enlarging the knots in her abdomen. He set his hat down on the coffee table, then retrieved a collection of photographs from the satchel he had slung over one shoulder. As he set them down in front of her, Rose almost gave herself away with the fear of being discovered.

Black-and-white print-outs of a man laid out on a morgue table, a white sheet cast over the lower half of the corpse's torso. She forced herself to breathe slowly, set down her mug to hide the way her hands were trembling like leaves. It wasn't the corpse that scared her, not in the slightest.

It was the silver handprint over the corpse's collarbone.

"What do you make of that?" The Sheriff asked, his expression calculated and even, and she could see the cogs turning behind his eyes.

She forced away the hasty reply, trying to show a little innocence, looking him directly in the eyes. "I've never seen anythin' like that before."

"A witness claims he saw a similar mark on your stomach," the Sheriff said, and Rose's stomach flipped.

"Well," she said, "they were wrong."

The Sheriff laughed almost humourlessly. "Well, some people do have pretty wild imaginations."

"Yeah..."

He leaned over the coffee table, lacing his hands and resting his elbows on the wood. "I'm going to have to see for myself, Rose."

She huffed, raising her eyebrows as if scandalised. "I'm not sure, Sheriff. I told you - I spilled ketchup, and I... I said that like, a _thousand_ times-"

"Rose," the Sheriff said, and the look in his eyes told her it was futile to argue.

She stood, shaking fingers at the hem of her pyjama top.

Fighting back tears, she lifted.


	5. Failing Expectations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, life has been crazy! The wait for the next one will be a lot shorter hopefully. I'll just point out that re-reading the previous chapter before this one may be a good idea, as I made a few plot-altering corrections! You probably won't even realise them, but just in case!

The Sheriff's expectant face fell.

Rose cast a conservative glance downwards, and felt her entire body relax as her eyes took in the blank plain of her stomach. A bare stomach that showed no sign of a silver handprint born of alien intervention. She tried to hide her relief as she dropped the hem back down, straightening herself out.

"The mark faded on the corpse, too." The Sheriff folded his hands, rubbing one thumb over the side of his left index finger. "Tell me, Rose. What do you know about the man called the Doctor?"

Rose's heart skipped a beat, but she continued to feign ignorant interest and raised an eyebrow. "The Doctor? Um, I... you mean, the ones at medical centres? Hospitals? If not, then I'm afraid I don't-"

"Was he there at the Crashdown the other day?"

"I don't think so," she frowned, pretending to think. "What does he look like?"

The Sheriff gave a sigh, shaking his head and dodging her question. "Right. Well then, Miss Tyler. Only one more question then I'll be on my way."

"Fire away, Sheriff," Rose replied. She was practically itching for him to leave.

"The waitressing uniform. What happened to it after the shooting?"

She froze. "I... I put it in the bin. Figured it'd stain from the ketchup 'n all, so I saved mum the washin' detergent and stuck it in the bin. I've been using a spare in the meantime."

The Sheriff opened his mouth as if to further his point, then closed it with a loaded sigh. Rose felt something inside her deflate, like tension that had built to a bursting point only to disintegrate with his resignation. He took his hat off, brushing lint she couldn't see away from the brim, then put it back atop his head.

"I suppose that's all, then," he said, and Rose nodded, smiling politely. He may have been Mickey's dad, but Mickey had never been close with his father and so, by default, Rose didn't know much about him other than that he'd moved along with Mickey and his grandmother. All she could do was be courteous, keep her nose clean in front of him, and be an "asset to the Tyler family in his eyes", according to her mum.

They didn't find a bullet hole, she realised. Witnesses had seen her fall to the ground unconscious, regardless of whether or not they'd seen her actually be shot, so it put her in a prime position as a suspicious individual.

"On a lighter note," he said as he stepped onto the front doorstep outside, "Mickey sends his best. Says to call if you get chance and that he hopes you're a lot better than a couple days ago."

"Thanks, Sheriff. I'll call," she returned, and with a wave, he left.

Rose closed the door behind her and sank down against it, head in her hands and her heart in her throat.

She'd talk to the Doctor again, sooner rather than later.

* * *

"You shouldn't have told her."

The Doctor resisted a groan for the fifth time that hour, hunkering slightly over one of the wooden tables outside the restaurant they'd chosen to dine at. Of course, when he said "dine", he was really suggesting "being interrogated" by his two companions. Donna Noble was regarding him with a stare that could've burned a hole through solid diamond, and beside her, Jack Harkness was giving a look that the Doctor couldn't quite decipher enough to decide whether it was scornful or pitying.

"Easy for you to say," he responded, fixing his eyes on Jack first. "I don't know how you've managed to keep everything secret from her. How long have you been her friend? Five years? You even altered your physical age just to keep up appearances with her."

"I've been a good friend to her," Jack snapped. "It means indulging her fantasies sometimes, and I assumed that even if I did direct her to you, I thought you'd at least try to talk her down!"

Donna swirled the remainder of her drink - an alien cocktail, he believed the restaurant called it - around in her glass, then downed it. "We've lived here for years. Nice little mundane life, it's been! Not anymore though, you prat. All for some little human girl!"

"Both of you, would you stop shouting?" The Doctor groaned, rubbing his face with a hand and massaging a temple. "Hyenas, now hush. Would you have let someone die when you could stop it?"

"If it meant keepin' somethin' huge like this secret," Donna said, though she looked away and he knew she didn't mean it. "Least you haven't told her. Keep her guessin'."

He froze. Jack noticed.

"Oh, of course," Jack rolled his eyes. "Mister Spock goes running in like some great superhero to save the girl in need."

"She's your best friend," the Doctor said quietly, locking Jack's gaze with his until he could feel Jack's uneasiness grow. "What type of person does that make you if you'd let her die in something that wasn't even her fight?"

Jack looked down, and the Doctor held his ground as Jack responded. "Doesn't matter now. Not anymore. But Doc... you need to wipe her memory, it's the least you can do. Let her think the bullet missed her and that she hit her head when she was startled and tripped trying to dodge the bullet. Find the ruined uniform and _burn_ it."

The Doctor's mind flashed with images. Talking to Rose, laughing with her as she was tucked against his side, convincing her as much as he was convinced that she was the most important person. Getting close enough that he could hold her and brush the hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears and resting his fingers at her temples with such tenderness that she would almost want him.

Then stealing her memories like some damned thief and making her believe he never existed.

His stomach dropped. 

"I can't," he said gruffly, getting up. "I'm sorry, the both of you, but no. I won't do it. I'll figure this out, but I'm not doing such an awful thing to her."

"Doc," Jack said, his tone warming a little and his facial coolness fading. "I know it's hard. God knows that girl is the greatest best friend I've ever had, and I've lived long enough for a couple trials."

"Then why would you want to leave her too? Would you have really had her die just so you wouldn't risk our little secret?"

"It isn't little," Donna shook her head, calming the same way Jack had done. "But Doctor, what is it you're not telling us? What's so special about her?"

"It doesn't matter," the Doctor evaded. "But we should go home. Think it over away from prying eyes."

* * *

The three of them piled into the Doctor's soft-top, heading back to the house that he and Donna shared. Jack didn't live with them, having been adopted away from the pair when they were separated from each other at the crash site and raised from the deceiving physical age of eleven by a human father. Living with Donna was a challenge sometimes, but she kept him humble to say the least, and definitely didn't let him off without doing the housework.

The atmosphere on the drive home was tense, with an uncomfortable sort of electricity in the air. Trying his best to ignore the crushing weight on his chest, the Doctor kept one hand on the wheel as they pulled on to the highway, zoning out as Donna and Jack squabbled like children about something mediocre. After twelve years of living in Roswell (awake and away from the crashed ship, at least), he'd allowed their bickering to be turned into white noise whenever he chose.

It was now that it was mere white noise to his ears, and he'd almost deafened out everything until the Police siren jolted him from his thoughts.

"Go, go!" Jack hissed, and then yelped as Donna thumped him hard in the stomach.

"Do you want us to be suspicious?" The Doctor hissed, and it was purely rhetorical, for he pulled over without waiting for his friend's grumbling reply.

Steeling himself, he turned in his seat to greet the Sheriff as he parked up and came to stand by the Doctor's side of the convertible.

"Sheriff Smith," he said dryly, a smile plastered across his face. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"No trouble. Your license, please," the Sheriff said, skipping over the Doctor's flippant comment.

"Why? Did we do something?"

"No," the Sheriff said slowly, "I'm just checking up on anyone involved around the shooting and I'm afraid I don't know your name past the title."

"Ah. Well, here." The Doctor reached into the pocket of his leather jacket, withdrawing the Psychic Paper. He handed it over, watching the Sheriff's face carefully as he scanned the ID.

"Doctor James Noble," the Sheriff said, and the Doctor nodded cheerily.

"That's me. And that's my sister, Donna. A mate of ours, Jack," he introduced, and the Sheriff's stiff posture slackened somewhat. Was he _disappointed_?

"Okay, well, sorry for the bother," he said, tipping his hat. "But I'll advise you all to be careful. That day at the café, stuff like that... happens any time, unpredictable. Be careful."

"Will do, Sheriff. Will do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! They make me smile so much :)


	6. Culture Shock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly late update guys, life has been hectic! Hope this will suffice.

"You'll tell me everythin'. Promise."

The Doctor paced before her, restless, and had been doing so for the past ten minutes. Rose was perched up on the bench they had sat upon together several days ago, her knees drawn up against her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around them. Her eyes followed him, and she could almost swear the eyelids were beginning to droop as she watched him move like some rhythmic pendulum.

When he said nothing, she pressed further. "Doctor."

He halted, a conflicted expression on his face, then shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and came to stand in front of her. "I promise I'll tell you what you need to know. Ask me. I'll answer what I can."

"Alright, fine." She let out a long breath. "I've got to tell you, though... I'm on thin ice with all of this. It's new and it's scary, and I really, _really_ don't know what to think of _any_ of it-"

"That's normal," he said, "perfectly normal. Culture shock. And a big one, too."

"Yeah."

"So. Begin your interrogation, Detective Tyler."

Rose, having been looking at a worn-down patch on the bench beside her, brought her eyes up to meet the Doctor's. "Where are you from? And what _are_ you? Like, I get the alien thing, but there's more to it than that. Space has more than one system, or galaxy. Planets and stuff. So what's yours?"

The Doctor rocked back onto his heels, hands still shoved deep into his pockets. "I'm Gallifreyan. Specifically, Time Lord, from the planet Gallifrey. You find it in the constellation of Kasterborous, about 250 million light-years from Earth. They also called it the Shining World of the Seven Syst-"

"Alright, slow up, will you?" Rose shook her head. "That's a lot to process. Time Lord, Gallifrey, 250 million light-years... okay. Next question. Is it just you? Are there others like you? I don't mean on your planet. Here."

"Thought you might ask that," the Doctor said, and Rose instantly noted the unease that seemed to have settled over him.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"I just... no. Nothing's wrong, but this might be a little bit of a shock, and I don't want you to think badly of him," the Doctor said, tiptoeing on metaphorical eggshells.

"What do you mean? Badly of who?"

"Jack," he said quickly, spitting the word out as if trying to be rid of it. "Jack Harkness. He... he's like me."

Rose's stomach flipped, and she felt the same level of trepidation she had felt at the Doctor's first confession arise. "Jack... Jack's like you? No. No, no, he would've told me. He's my best mate, he would've-"

"He couldn't, Rose, he really couldn't." The Doctor spoke quietly, his voice soft but firm. "Jack cares a lot about you, but telling you the truth about us all... it could kill us. Get us experimented on, have us locked in cages in labs for research. He couldn't risk that. I know he wanted to."

Tears brimmed, the lump in her throat growing steadily, and the Doctor's eyes widened. He knelt in front of the bench where she was sat, hesitating for a brief moment before gently taking her hands in his, smoothing his thumbs over the back as reassurance while Rose held back tears. His touch was kind, with a tentative undertone in spite of the Doctor's apparent surety.

Why was she crying about this?

Anger? A feeling of betrayal? The idea that one of her most steadfast friends had been lying to her, or at least hiding the truth, for five years?

All of it, perhaps.

"'M sorry," she mumbled, her hands still clasped in the Doctor's warm ones as he looked at her in confusion, his head tilted.

"What for?"

"Cryin'. Don't usually," she let out a huff of laughter, and the Doctor's lip quirked just a little in return.

"Nothin' to be sorry for," he reassured her. "You've held it together incredibly well, considering. Most people would've reported me to the police by now."

Rose shuddered, rather violently, and then shook her head. "No. I wouldn't do that. Couldn't, it's cruel."

The Doctor released her hands, sitting beside her on the bench. "You're a good person, Rose. You think with head and heart, not just one of them, and it makes you better than most."

"Thanks." Her cheeks coloured at the praise.

They settled into a brief, comfortable silence. Rose snuck glances at the Doctor's profile from time to time, half appreciating him, half wondering what went on behind his eyes. When he wasn't focused on conversation, his mind appeared to drift away, and Rose could see the way his eyes flickered and his adam's apple shifted harshly after a breath and a swallow.

"D'you have powers?" She blurted.

"Been known to do a few tricks," he answered, slinging an arm across the back of the bench. She subconsciously leant back against it.

"Could you show me one of them?"

"I've shown you telepathy. At least, surface telepathy. I can also manipulate molecular structure."

"Can you show me that, then?"

At her request, he pulled out a golden key. It lay in his palm, unmoving, and for a split second Rose began to think he was just having a laugh. Then her face fell slack in surprise.

The key had melted into a little puddle of amber in his hand.

"Woah," she breathed. He wiggled his fingers just a tad, and the liquid pulled together, solidifying back into its original shape.

"It's how I healed you," he informed her. She smiled at him, and he smiled straight back. As her surprise began to dwindle, a strange sense of guilt settled over her. He needed to know about the Sheriff.

"Doctor," she began, having to hesitate to take in a larger breath. "The Sheriff. He's on to you, I think. He... he came to my house, just after you left."

"He did _what_?"

"I'm not a suspect," she assured him quickly, "but I think he just wanted to clear a few things up. I didn't say anythin' that could put you at risk, or me. But if he comes again, I'm makin' sure he has a warrant. Doctor, he showed me pictures."

"Of what, Rose?" His voice had turned hard, almost aloof, and if she wasn't of the accepting disposition that she usually was, she might've otherwise been slightly afraid.

"A corpse. It had the same handprint on its chest that I had on my stomach." Rose lifted her shirt slightly to show its absence. "It's gone now, but... Doctor, that photo was marked 1959. It's... it's 2005. Can't have been you. You're not that old, surely."

"That's... that's _impossible_."

"Someone there saw the handprint on me, that day at the café. I dunno who it was. Could've been any random person, but... oh, _God_ , what if it was Mickey? And he didn't believe me? _Shit_." She accentuated the last word with a heavy breath.

"Maybe you should talk to him? Nicely? It's the Crash festival tomorrow, you could ask then. If he's your friend, he'll tell you the truth."

"Yeah," she trailed off, biting at her lip. "Maybe."

* * *

Rose reached the front door of her home at just before six o'clock that evening, having spent around three hours in the Doctor's company. After discussing potential ways of dealing with the Sheriff and coming to no viable solution, the pair had decided to take a walk, talking instead about the more mediocre matters of life such as Rose's upbringing and the Doctor's past few years in Roswell. Now she stood before her house, having mentally prepared herself for the barrage of her mother's interrogation.

"Shoes off," her mum instructed her when she opened the door, as if it wasn't common practice for Rose to do so every single time she entered.

When her shoes were tucked away on the rack beside the front door, Rose headed straight to the kitchen to stick the kettle on and grab a cookie from the biscuit jar. Her phone buzzed several times in her pocket, but she put it to the bottom of her to-do list, far too drained to think about texting right now. Footsteps sounded behind her, and Rose half-turned to meet the scornful eye of her mother.

"Alright, mum?"

"No," her mum replied, arms folded and a hip cocked. "No, it's not alright. What the bloody hell're you doing, Rose?"

"Doin' what? 'M not doin' anythin'," Rose defended around a mouthful of biscuit.

"I've spoken to a certain Mrs Costello tonight. Shareen's mum? She says, you've been seen around with some bloke."

"So? I have friends. I'm no social recluse."

"A man," her mum said, ignoring her, "that looks old enough to be your father, by all accounts. Leather? Buzz cut? Rose, what's goin' on?"

Rose stifled a laugh, reaching out a hand to her mum's shoulder. "Mum, he's a mate of mine, just someone I met at the café that day. He was really worried about me and we ran into each other. We had a chat once, then met up today again by accident."

"Rose Marion Tyler, I don't believe that, not for a second."

"Mum," Rose implored, "you know me. I'm not interested in that sort of thing at the minute, you don't have to worry or anythin'. Promise."

Her mum stared her down for several seconds, and Rose held her ground. "Fine. But be careful, Rose. At least tell me his name?"

"It's Doctor James Noble," Rose said, using the false name the Doctor had advised her to use in any situation such as this one. Her mother's expression slackened, almost as if she was relieved.

"He's a Doctor?"

"Yeah, and a pretty intelligent bloke. Good for a chat, you'd like him, I think." In reality, it wasn't what Rose thought - her mum would probably think him to be rude, or a little abrupt at worst.

"Okay," her mum said warily, taking the tea that Rose offered her. "And answer your phone, love, the noises are driving me mad."

Rose withdrew her phone from her pocket, flipping it open.

Missed calls (3): 

Mickey Smith

Mickey Smith

Mickey Smith

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review :)


	7. A Moral Stand-Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait again, had writer's block! This chapter is definitely more of a plot-filler (by design of the series, not me) but I have to get it out of the way in order to get to the good stuffTM. Enjoy!

It was an hour prior to the Crash Festival that Mickey Smith strode into Rose's room, all guns blazing and a face like thunder. Until then, Rose had been minding her own business with a cup of tea and a new book she'd bought a month ago but hadn't had time to read; a book by Adrian Tchaikovsky on the matter of aliens, funnily enough. Not attractive ones, though. Spider-like ones, with names like Portia and Bianca, and no means of verbal communication with humans.

She might have taken Mickey seriously in his temper, if it weren't for the ridiculous green alien costume he was covered from the neckline to his toes in. He folded his arms, deep disapproval etched into his face, and Rose fought back a snigger to raise an eyebrow.

"That's quite a statement," she quipped, but Mickey didn't so much as crack a smile. "Oh. Someone's in a funny one."

"Before we go to this stupid festival, you're gonna tell me everythin'. And I mean, everythin'," he emphasised. "And if you don't tell me the truth, I'll go to my Dad, the _Sheriff_ , and tell him everythin' I know."

Rose swallowed, hard. "What _do_ you know?"

A million scenarios went trail-blazing through her head, everything he could say and everything that could go wrong. She set aside _Children of Time,_ which she had set out in her lap to face him fully, giving him proper eye contact. She'd finish it later, if she got round to it.

"Well... well I know that... the Doctor was in the diner that day," he started, faltering just a little. "And that he went up to you when you were shot, and like... did _something_. I _also_ know that the one person I thought I could one hundred percent trust is lying to me."

Rose couldn't help the empty feeling that was steadily growing in the pit of her stomach. It was a similar feeling to the one that had overtaken her when the Doctor had told her everything about Jack. "Fine. Y'know what? Fine. But you have to promise you won't tell anyone."

"I won't."

"Promise you won't flip out on me?"

"You know me. I can take it."

* * *

"Rose, what's happened to you?" Mickey lamented as he drove them onward towards the festival.

Having had a near-breakdown following Rose's revelations on the alien matters, he'd been left mildly traumatised, and had taken several minutes talking Rose into allowing him to drive. In all honesty, she hadn't thought him stable enough, as he'd nearly passed out from the shock. As he'd lay on Rose's bed, wide-eyed and looking no more stable than a bowl of jelly, she'd gotten herself into a costume; a black get-up, consisting of a leather jacket zipped up to her throat paired with tight trousers, and her blonde hair slicked back. Something not too over-the-top, but fitting for a festival nonetheless.

"You were so... so... normal," he continued, and Rose groaned. He went on. "I'm serious. Normal English girl from east-end London, and normal _me_ from east-end London. Me! Me, who followed you across the world to come _here_ -"

"Mickey," Rose groused, "you're going on. I've told you all there is. I don't owe you normality, if that's what you're askin'."

"I've earned the right to go on! So I'll keep doin' it, thanks, if you don't mind."

"You asked to know!" Rose protested. "You literally blackmailed me! If you didn't want to know all this, then you shouldn't have asked, should you? Not my fault you can't take it."

They drove in silence, and Rose could almost feel herself winning their spoken battle. Truthfully, deep down, she knew he wouldn't take it well no matter how she said it. She had explained slowly, calmly, specifically trying _not_ to scare him away, but it was Mickey. Kind-hearted (for the most part), Mickey, who enjoyed the simpler things in life, like football and a nice trip to the pub on a Wednesday night.

But he shouldn't rely on her to sustain that monotony for him.

Just as she was drifting into a deeper train of thought, she caught sight of them. Three of them, driving in a convertible, on the other side of the road about to pass them by.

"Mickey!" She exclaimed, shoving her friend's shoulder. "Mickey, that's them! Do a U-turn, now!"

"Rose, we're not-"

"Now, Mickey!"

He was still faffing with the steering wheel, so on a whim she grabbed it with one hand, reaching across him, swerving Mickey's car in the middle of the road with a screech of its tyres.

"Oh my God, are you crazy?" Mickey gasped, batting Rose's hands away to regain control of the wheel and straighten out the car.

"Apparently so."

* * *

"So," Jack was saying, "this picture. What you're trying to tell me is that there's another one of us, loose around Roswell?"

The Doctor, having sat in the car with Donna and Jack for a little over twenty minutes, was attempting to deafen out Jack's endless conversation with the hum of the soft-top's engine. He hadn't stopped talking the entire time, despite the Doctor having repeated himself three times on the matter. "There was, back in the 1950s."

"If he's still around-"

"Or she," Donna interrupted.

"Or she," Jack nodded, "then maybe they know how to get home. Or... how we even got here in the first place. Also _why_ we're here. We were in those incubation pods inside the wreckage for how long? A few decades? But why?"

"You and your questions," the Doctor grumbled, pulling into a darkened street.

A car had been following behind for around ten minutes of their journey, and the Doctor was determined to see if it was following. There was always the chance of an undercover police car, and so it was better to face it directly rather than hope it went away. Of course, there was also the chance that it was just another Crash Festival attendee, visiting as they were, but he didn't want to take such a risk. He parked up, and two seconds later, the ridiculous lemon-toned car pulled in after them.

A dead-end, as he had planned, which meant that either the other car's passengers were lost and using the Doctor for directions, or were well and truly tracking them. Donna and Jack heaved simultaneous sighs, then got out of the car to face their followers, the Doctor just behind.

"Oh. It's your girlfriend, Doctor," Donna acknowledged, as a blonde girl and a young man dressed in a comical green costume came to greet them. "Looks just how you described her."

The Doctor ignored her, opting to regard Rose instead. "Rose."

"Doctor."

Rose's eyes flickered away from the Doctor for a brief moment, settling on Jack. Her stomach sank at the realisation that he was struggling to meet her eyes. A flash of anger sparked through her belly, but at the same time, a feeling of sickening guilt. He'd betrayed her trust, but she had told Mickey about them in return. It was hard enough for herself to keep it quiet from those who didn't know, but Mickey? Would he be able to take that pressure?

"I told Mickey," she blurted.

The red-haired woman - Donna, the Doctor had told her at some point - let out a short laugh. "Unbelievable."

"I won't tell anyone, though," Mickey assured them quickly. "I swear."

Jack diverted his attention from Mickey to Rose again, his eyes softening only a fraction. "Rose, turn your car around. I think you should leave-"

"No," Rose snapped, the anger outweighing her guilt. "No, Jack, I'm not leavin'. What you did was so unfair! You can't lie to someone like that. When the person who's trying to figure somethin' out, you can't just sit there, knowin' the answers while your friend just guesses like an idiot!"

Jack's face fell, and Rose kept an even expression to stand her ground. "I'm sorry, Rose. I mean that. But your lives aren't at stake - ours are, and-"

"Jack," the Doctor said, setting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We've kept our secret for years. It was bound to come out eventually. Not sure if I even want to keep hidden anymore."

"We should run," Donna suggested. "Run and hole up in some other country."

"If you run, it'll just make you look more guilty," Rose said, shaking her head. "You'll just prove to the Sheriff that he was right all along, and then they'll come after you. You won't escape them."

"Rose, this isn't-" Jack began, but the Doctor turned to face him.

"Jack, this can't last forever. Even if it could, I don't think I'd want it to."

Rose felt her heart swell at his defense. Part of her in some way believed it to be her own fault that all of this was happening, but he didn't seem to blame her even as his own family turned their opinions against his. He looked at her for a split second, an odd mix of regret and something else in his eyes, then spoke on.

"I'm turning myself in to the Sheriff."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are ALWAYS welcome and appreciated <3


	8. Strange Sense of Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the 4-week hiatus! I was out of the country for a while with no means to write! I'm very much getting back into the swing of things now. Hope you all enjoy reading this chapter as much as I did writing it!

Half an hour and several disputes later, they arrived at the Crash Festival. The sky had long since darkened, save for the occasional bouts of fireworks on display above the rows of festive stalls and fairground rides. The festival was already in full swing by the time they got there, but fortunately there were still a couple of vacant parking spaces available.

As a group they wandered, entertaining themselves with the stalls and shows that the festival had to offer. At some point they ran into Shareen, who greeted them all with a wide grin and an enthusiastic hug for Rose and Mickey. She made no mention of the Doctor or Donna, who had distanced themselves so as not to be noticed with Rose. Jack, on the other hand, returned Shareen's enthusiasm and questions with ease, despite them having little prior interaction aside from anything involved with their mutual friend. Rose's earlier anger towards Jack was beginning to abate as the night was drawing on.

To say Rose was surprised by the three aliens' dedication to the aesthetic was an understatement. The Doctor had been pressured by Donna to 'dress for the occasion', and had ended up in a just-about-casual tux. Jack and Donna, however, had opted for something a little more eccentric, with Jack spiking his hair so drastically he may as well have been struck by lightning, and Donna had fit herself into a shiny silver jumpsuit and a high ponytail.

Rose voiced her appreciation for Donna's choice on clothes on several occasions, and she could almost feel the way that her iciness towards her had started to melt down slightly.

The pleasant atmosphere of the festival dwindled at Jack's recognition of the fact that a certain Sheriff had taken notice of the Doctor and his companions. Rose caught sight of the hat and badge amongst the bustling crowds and her heart thudded inside her chest. The Doctor was walking beside her in their group, so she gripped his sleeve so he would turn to look at her.

"He's here," she whispered, and the look on his face was good enough evidence that he knew who she was talking about.

"Think he'll question me?" the Doctor asked, murmuring back to her.

Rose shook her head. "I know he will. I've seen him glance over here a couple of times. He's with another officer."

"Might be time for the plan then."

* * *

" _This_ is your big idea?" Mickey hissed as Donna shoved him to the ground of the Crash Festival parking lot.

The Doctor had conjured up some grand scheme, and Mickey appeared to be taking the brunt of it - or rather, as phrased by Jack, "taking one for the team". A rather large one, it seemed, as his clothes were coated in brown-grey dust.

"Shut it, you," Donna rolled her eyes. "Go on, roll!"

"This is stupid," he complained, but went ahead and complied anyway.

"Yeah, well, tough. Gimme your keys."

"Look, Donna - if that's your name - that car might not be your idea of class but I worked damn hard for it. Don't you dare go trashin' it."

"It's just part of the plan. A distraction. Trust me on this one thing, alright?"

"Hey," Mickey responded with indignation. "I'm only goin' ahead with this 'cause Rose is one of my best mates, yeah? Doesn't mean I like or trust any of you."

"Well," Donna said, dragging the word, "you can trust us if we can trust you. If anything gets back to the Sheriff, we'll know who let the cat out of the bag."

Mickey just swallowed.

"So," Jack said loudly, clapping his hands together so as to disrupt the tension. Rose stood by the Doctor's side, several feet away, listening intently. "Are we clear on the plan?"

"Go over it one more time," the Doctor said. "Just so we're certain on the details."

Jack cleared his throat. "The Sheriff's not far. He'll be here, guaranteed. My suggestion is that we pretend that Mickey was hit by his car - of course, the Sheriff won't know it's his car and the Doctor doesn't want us to use the soft-top-"

"It's a good car," the Doctor grouched, and Rose bit back a grin.

"Anyways. The Sheriff's been eyeing the Doctor up for an hour now, and keeps gesturing. We've got to wait til he's distracted, then pretend that Donna hit Mickey with the car. I've got silver paint," Jack said, lifting up a bucket of the stuff from the Doctor's car's trunk. "I'll put it on my hand and put a handprint on Mickey. At the same time, the Doctor will conveniently be near the Sheriff. He'll try to interrogate him, but Rose will call for help with Mickey. The Sheriff will see the handprint, then realise he's had the Doctor with him the whole time."

"Sounds good to me," Rose said cheerfully as Mickey grumbled on the contrary.

After ensuring everyone was confident in their roles, they split off into their separate directions. The Doctor waved goodbye to Rose by the car park, where she was stood ready to shout for the Sheriff if needed, just out of view from behind the cars.

He headed away towards a dense crowd, not planning to talk to anyone so much as to just be seen fitting in with the locals. The Doctor came to stand by a food stall, selling hot dogs and hamburgers and a variety of drinks. He ordered a coke, since he was, of course, trying to fit in. The cashier had just about handed over the drink as the Doctor spotted a familiar face among the sea of heads, and he found his hearts leaping uncomfortably in his chest. He stepped away from the food stall.

"I have some questions for you," the Sheriff said, tilting the hat on his head. The Doctor wasn't a big fan of the hat.

He plastered a smile across his face. "What kind of questions?"

As per usual, the Sheriff didn't rise to the bait, and ignored the Doctor's faux friendliness. "Were you at the Crashdown Café on the day of the shooting?"

"Yep. Was indeed."

"What did you do to Rose Tyler?"

The Doctor stilled, freezing up. He felt a little like a deer caught in the headlights, trapped under the Sheriff's gaze. "I didn't do anything to her."

A disbelieving, wry smile on the Sheriff's face. "I don't believe that."

Before he could react, the Sheriff had caught the Doctor's hands behind his back, binding them into handcuffs.

The Doctor grimaced. "Aren't you going to read me my rights?"

"Do you have any?"

* * *

Rose could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck in anticipation as she subconsciously rubbed her arm. Unfocused, she bumped against two heavily-costumed tourists and apologised quickly, if a little carelessly. Bigger things to think about, she supposed. She approached the parking lot in time to watch Donna pretend to hit Mickey with the car, completely unaware of the two tourists now following silently behind.

Jack had crouched over Mickey's 'unconscious' body, donned in a fully-concealing costume complete with a mask, a hand pressed over the space between Mickey's neck and the costume fabric. Rose feigned her shock, running to them, but Jack was gone before she reached them. She slumped down to her knees, taking note of the shining silver handprint cast over Mickey's collarbones.

"Micks," she said, a hiss of sorts to alert him that the Sheriff was about to head their way. "Help! Can I get some help over here, please?"

It only took a minute or so before the Sheriff arrived, the Doctor nowhere to be seen.

Mickey's father's face looked conflicted for a moment, as if deciding between his concern for his son and the need for truth. It appeared that the latter won out, judging by the next words to leave his mouth. "What happened here?"

Rose didn't answer - didn't need to - as the Sheriff had already spotted the handprint. He peered at it with worrying intensity, then he was on his feet and walking.

* * *

The Sheriff untied the Doctor's shackles from the post he'd left him tied to, leaving his wrists still bound, then slammed the Doctor's front against the portable trailer nearby.

"You think you're a smart guy, don't you?"

The Doctor groaned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you play games with me. This is paint," the Sheriff snapped, and held up his hand for the Doctor to see. Silver paint was smeared across the fingertips. "You went up to Rose Tyler in that café and you did something to her. I need to know what."

"I had a hamburger," the Doctor lied with false sincerity. "When the gun went off, I ran. Did I break the law? You arresting me?"

The Sheriff's face narrowed, but then his hands were unfastening the handcuffs and letting the Doctor off. "No. Because I can't prove anything yet. But let me tell you something, _Doctor_. I'm going to find out what the truth is. You can count on it. You're a real smart guy. Well, so am I."

And with that, he strode away.

* * *

The announcer's voice rang clearly across the display, cutting through the noise of exuberant festival-goers as the fireworks exploded overhead. Hundreds of attendees had come to gather behind the mesh fencing, grabbing at it with enthusiastic hands, roaring their excitement and impatience. The clock was nearing eleven, and the festival was coming to an eventful climax, with everyone awaiting the main event.

"This is it, folks!" The announcer called out over the din. "Are you ready? Eight... seven... six... five... four..."

Having fought their way to the forefront of the crowd, the Doctor, Donna and Jack stood at the fence. Their own hands had twined into the mesh, looking on at the scene with sombre faces and aching hearts.

"Three! Two! One!"

Suspended metres into the air by a zipline, the replica alien ship plummeted towards the soon-to-be crash site, hitting the ground with an explosion of pyrotechnics. As the smoke cleared and the flame began to fade, the bodies came into view. Little green men had scattered in the faux-crash, left to smoulder in the wreckage.

A perfect little mockery of how their world had been torn from them.

A solitary tear slipped from the corner of the Doctor's eye, only to be caught by a delicate human finger and brushed away. The Doctor turned to face Rose, who had pushed through the crowd to stand by his side. Her hand dropped from his eye and down his arm, slipping into his and holding fast. He gripped her like a lifeline, her thumb smoothing over the back of his hand with all the tenderness of a butterfly's wings. His hearts skipped in his ribcage.

It was truly a wonder how she could ground him.

She tugged gently at his hand, sensing his turmoil, and he followed her willingly away from the crash site.

* * *

Rose took him to a hill overlooking the festival, just far enough away that it would take a pair of high-intensity binoculars to spot them. They were alone, just the two of them, and for that she was infinitely grateful. For a while they didn't speak, instead just looked at each other, and if Rose imagined hard enough, his gaze seemed almost reverent.

She smiled back at him, starting to feel as though she were being consumed by the intimacy of the moment. A shift in the air, she thought to herself, or even in their friendship. A shift into something else entirely, something far deeper.

The Doctor lifted a rough hand to her temple, brushing it softly and igniting a little spark at the corner of Rose's mind as his brushed hers. In response, she let out a breathless laugh and the Doctor returned her smile. His hand left her temple to trail a path through her hair, curling a lock of blonde around his finger.

"You're beautiful," he said, rather off-handedly, and Rose felt a flush start to creep up her neck and warm her face.

"I, uh..." she stuttered, not quite sure how to respond to something so blatant. "Thank you."

The soft smile on his face flickered briefly, then fell as swiftly as it came. "Rose, I... it's not safe. I'm... me, _I'm_ not safe."

She smiled wryly back. "I know that. Not that I particularly care."

The Doctor's face switched between several emotions in the space of a couple milliseconds, and then he held her hand in his and brought it to his lips. He kissed it gently, and she found herself memorising the feel of his lips against her skin, almost delighting in it.

"Wish that this," the Doctor began, "whatever _this_ is, was normal. That I was normal, not some 900-year-old bloke from space, and that... that I was good for you to be around. That this could be something more."

"Normal wouldn't quite suit you," she said, but her tone was a strange sort of melancholy. "Doctor. Stay?"

He squeezed her hand, sending shivers down her spine, then released it. She instantly missed his warmth, but then that same hand was resting on her cheek, smoothing a thumb over her skin. "Goodbye, Rose."

The hand dropped, and he began to walk away.

"Wait, Doctor," she called out, really looking for an excuse to see his face just a little longer. "Thank you. 'N I mean it."

"No, Rose. Thank you."

* * *

_It's September 24th. I'm Rose Tyler, and five days ago I died. But then the really amazing thing happened. I came back to life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a review! They're motivating and it's always amazing to interact with readers <3


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